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stairs. Someone’s moved my cleaning supplies, sir. I was looking for the right cloth.’
    ‘You stupid woman, you left a death trap.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Lord Stapleford,’ said Susan.
    ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, get a cloth, Euphemia, so I can get down from here. I don’t appreciate having to shout my orders through the whole house.’
    ‘Right away, Mr Bertram,’ I said. ‘Where are the cloths, Susan? Did you find them?’ Mechanically, the girl produced a cloth from behind her back.
    ‘Mr Bertram,’ whispered Susan hollowly. The colour had drained from her face. ‘Mr Bertram? I thought he was Lord Stapleford.’
    ‘No,’ I said whipping the cloth out of her slackened grasp. ‘Lord Richard has red hair like you Scots.’
    She snatched the cloth back from my hands so quickly it burned hot against my skin. ‘I’ll do it,’ she snapped and scampered up the steps to the first dull tread. I followed. ‘At least tell me where the cloths are. It will be quicker with two of us.’
    ‘I said I can manage.’
    ‘What are you up to?’ said Mr Bertram. ‘Will you get a move on?’
    ‘I didn’t know he had a brother,’ hissed Susan to me. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she called up to Mr Bertram. ‘I didn’t know yous gentlemen would be down so early.’
    ‘Good gad, woman, it’s the country. How long have you worked here?’
    ‘I didn’t mean any harm,’ protested Susan.
    ‘Will you tell me where there is another cloth?’ I repeated quietly and urgently in Susan’s ear. ‘This is taking too long.’ Although to be fair she was working very quickly. However, I could not help be aware of Mr Bertram’s fading patience and the growing sullenness of the girl beside me. I foresaw it could not end well.
    ‘If this is the general standard of work …’ began Mr Bertram.
    The doorbell rang. The chime was so deep I could almost say it tolled. I turned, but Rory was already answering the summons. He glided sedately across the hall, paying no heed to the argument that was brewing behind him. He opened the door to a tall gentleman. It was at this point Susan, instead of fading discreetly into the background, broke into noisy sobs. I immediately attempted to shush her, but she was alarmingly rigid and I had a fear that any moment she would go off into strong hysterics. I glanced up at the new arrival, hoping he would have the breeding not to notice the domestic dispute.
    The guest made quite an impression. The gentleman – and he looked every inch a gentleman – had on one of the best-cut suits I have seen in a long time. He had the loose-knit frame of one who was a natural athlete. His hair was lank and blond, slightly longer than is common, especially at the front. I would estimate he was in his fourth decade, around the mid-30s, but there were signs he would not age well. He showed Lord Richard’s tendency to run to fat. A fold of skin bulged over his collar and now, as he smiled, I saw a spider’s web of lines creased around his eyes. There was also an air about him, hard to put my finger upon, but if forced to name it, I would have said one of nervous excitement. He hid it well, but it showed in the flexing of his fingertips and the manner in which he fairly sprang past Rory into the hall.
    ‘Is this a commotion I see before me?’ He brushed past me and was at Susan’s side. ‘Or is it a flower?’ And with that he pulled a flower from behind Susan’s ear.
    ‘Oh, bravo,’ I said, quite forgetting myself. I heard Mr Bertram mutter, ‘Damn it. I’ll find another way down,’ and he disappeared from above.
    ‘I washed behind my lugs,’ stammered Susan.
    ‘I’m sure you did,’ said our guest, gallantly presenting the flower to an open-mouthed Susan.
    He turned and smiled at me. ‘Roland McGillvary,’ he said offering me his hand. ‘Very popular with young nieces and nephews, available for genteel entertainments!’
    I returned his smile and shook his hand. ‘Welcome to Stapleford Lodge, sir.